Chapter Twenty-One
Alexandra met Letitia in Green Park the day after the aborted duel. The two girls frequently walked in the hilly park together and Alexandra who, in spite of her enjoyment of the delights of the Metropolis, found that she missed the peacefulness of the countryside, felt quite at home there. The moment Alexandra set eyes on Letitia, she realised that she was big with news. Her friend’s cheeks were flushed a becoming shade of pink and her eyes were shining brightly.
After she had greeted Alexandra, she said breathlessly, “Oh Alex! The most marvellously romantic thing has happened! You will not believe it! Indeed, I can hardly believe it myself. To think that Charles would do such a thing!”
Alexandra said cautiously, “What has he done, Letty?”
Letitia sighed ecstatically. “A duel was nearly fought over my name, Alex! I overheard Robert telling Cousin Amelia that Charles had called George Winters out, because he had made disparaging remarks about me. Charles was willing to risk his life for the honour of my name! The duel, however, did not take place. George Winters, being the dastardly coward that he is, failed to arrive at the agreed venue.” Letitia hunched her shoulders in excitement. “I never thought such an exciting thing would happen to me! That Charles could be so... so... manly, has left me quite speechless!”
Alexandra tactfully refrained from pointing out that, far from being rendered speechless, her friend had not stopped talking since they had met. Instead, she said, “I have mentioned before that Sir Charles seems very fond of you, Letty. I am not at all surprised that he came to the defence of your honour.”
“Oh Alex! I think I may be in love with him! I have never regarded Charles as anything other than my brother’s friend. But now! Well... the duel has changed everything.”
Alexandra regarded her friend seriously. “Do you love him Letty, or are you merely succumbing to the perceived romance of the situation?”
Letitia bit her lip. “I know that my family think that I am a flighty featherbrain, Alex, and I am the first one to admit that I have tumbled foolishly into love in the past. But — what I feel for Charles is quite different from my other romantic entanglements. I was not aware of my sentiments before, but I do love Charles. Only — I did not know it beforehand.”
Alexandra smiled. “I am truly happy for you, then, Letty. Sir Charles will make you a splendid husband.”
“He will, won’t he?” Letitia said with satisfaction. After recounting the numerous virtues of Sir Charles — which would have astounded that gentleman had he been present to hear them — Letitia paused and looked inquisitively at her friend. “And you, Alex? I know that you say that you wish to remain unmarried, but recently I have thought that perhaps you and Robert might make a match of it. And I know that a few other people think the same thing.”
Alexandra felt the heat rising in her cheeks. “You — and they — are mistaken, Letty. Your brother has been very kind — setting his seal of approval on me in the way that he has. But — he certainly does not regard me in a... a romantic light.”
Letitia regarded Alexandra sceptically, but held her tongue. A few moments later, much to Alexandra’s relief, she changed the subject, and they spoke of other matters until their return to Berkeley Square.
Sitting in the privacy of her bedchamber a while later, Alexandra pondered over Letitia’s words, a frown creasing her brow. She wondered how many other members of the ton thought that nuptials might be in the air for her and the Duke of Stanford. It seemed as if she had been correct in questioning the wisdom of the Duke’s decision to accompany her in the place of Sir Charles during her morning rides. Stanford had been reassuringly matter of fact about the ton’s likely reaction to seeing them together. And Alexandra had thought that, at worst, they may think the Duke was setting her up as his latest flirt, but now some people believed him to be intent on proposing matrimony to her which was a far more serious turn of events. Something would have to be done to change the tide of talk, Alexandra decided resolutely.
In Hyde Park the next morning, Alexandra broached the subject with the Duke. “Your grace — it is imperative that we cease our morning rides together.”
The Duke, who had been thinking how utterly charming his companion looked in her blue riding habit, took a few moments to reply. He looked at Alexandra thoughtfully, before saying, “Indeed? What reason do you have for suggesting this?”
“The same reason that you gave me when you suggested that I cease my morning rides with Sir Charles,” Alexandra said frankly. “The ton, as I feared, have begun to link our names together. And a few misguided people even believe that you intend offering for me.” Alexandra flushed slightly. “You and I know, of course, that this is a ridiculous notion. But... well — I do not want people to speculate about us, your grace.”
“Miss Grantham — I regret to inform you that if we are no longer seen together, this will give rise to even more speculation than there is at present. People will believe us to have fallen out and that can only be damaging to your social career.”
Alexandra’s brow creased. “Oh — but... Is there nothing to be done?”
“I’m afraid not, my dear. People will continue to talk, whatever action we take. The best thing to do is to continue as we have been going on.”
Alexandra, thinking of the Duke’s words after she had returned to Beauchamp House, puzzled over the reason why he had suggested accompanying her on her rides in the first place. Surely he had known that the ton would be bound to speculate about them, as they had done about her and Sir Charles. His actions seemed mystifying and Alexandra, feeling a trifle uneasy, wondered what deep game the Duke of Stanford was playing.
Lady Beauchamp had decided, when she had taken Emily under her wing, that it would simplify matters if Emily and Alexandra were to share the same coming-out ball, and their joint presentation promised to be an event of more than ordinary social importance. Lady Beauchamp was gratified by the fact that nearly every guest who had been sent one of her elegant gilt-edged invitations had accepted; it seemed that the whole of London would be arriving in force on their doorstep the next Wednesday. A few mamas who had planned to stage their own daughters’ balls on this evening decided prudently to change the date — nothing could be more socially embarrassing than a ballroom woefully thin of company.
The multifarious details that needed attention to ensure that everything went well on the appointed evening kept Lady Beauchamp fully occupied during the week preceding the ball. The large ballroom and conservatory, which had not been in use for some time owing to the fact that Lady Beauchamp had not entertained on a grand scale since her husband had passed away, were opened up and swept and cleaned by the housemaids. The crystal chandeliers were polished until they glistened, furniture was removed from various rooms to create more space, and extra glasses, plates and silver cutlery were washed and polished till they gleamed. Police officers and linkboys were warned of the large number of carriages likely to assemble in Berkeley Square on the evening of the ball, and a band hired to provide the music for the dancing. Lady Beauchamp decided, after a little consideration, to order supplementary refreshments from Gunters, so that her excellent French chef, Philippe, could focus his attention on preparing the delicacies for which he was renowned.
Desirous of decorating her rooms in a manner quite out of the common way, Lady Beauchamp decided to create an English country garden effect by making lavish use of flowers. She and Alexandra spent a most enjoyable morning in consultation with Mr Tubbs, the proprietor of Tubbs’ Nursery Garden in King’s Road, and finally decided on a blue, white and silver colour scheme, making creative use of blue and white hyacinths, white wood anemones and white jasmine. Hanging-baskets, garlands, and bowers of these flowers would create a perfect backdrop for Alexandra’s ravishing ball gown.
Exquisite in its simplicity, this off-the-shoulder creation of figured lace over an ice-blue satin robe, with its tiny puff sleeves parallel to a daringly low-cut neckline, was described by
Madame Fanchon to her underlings in an uncharacteristically expansive moment as “my pièce de résistance, mes enfants.” Long blue gloves, a length of silver net draped around the shoulders in the style known as l’Ariane, a pair of dainty slippers of Denmark satin, discovered while on a shopping expedition in Bond Street, and Alexandra’s beautiful sapphire set, completed the effect of stunning elegance.
Emily, rather overwhelmed by all the preparations for the ball, retired into the background, having the uncomfortable feeling that she was infringing on what really should have been Alexandra’s special evening. She contributed very little to the animated discussions that went on between Lady Beauchamp and Alexandra about the upcoming event, and Alexandra, noticing her friend’s reticent attitude, tackled her about it one morning.
“Are you not looking forward to the ball, Emily?” she asked.
Emily looked a little shocked. “Oh no, Alexandra! I’m sure it will be lovely. Only, I feel that I am imposing on you and your grandmother a little. It should really only be your coming-out ball, you know.”
“Oh, nonsense, Emily,” Alexandra said, linking her arm through her friend’s. “I couldn’t ask for a nicer person to share it with.”
“Are you certain, Alexandra?”
“Of course, I am, you goose! Now, tell me — what are you going to wear to the ball?”
Emily looked down at her hands. “I — I’m not sure. I have my white evening gown. I could wear that.”
Alexandra shook her head. “But you’ve worn that on so many other occasions, Emily. Do you not have something else?”
Emily continued to study her hands. “Stepmama provided more for Jane in the way of clothes, than she did for me. I don’t have many ball gowns.”
“Well, we must do something about that then. I shall talk to Grandmama.”
True to her word, Alexandra spoke to Lady Beauchamp that evening about Emily’s lack of finery.
“But, that will simply not do,” Lady Beauchamp said firmly. “I shall ask Madame Fanchon if she can quickly make up something up for Emily to wear. We cannot have her looking out of place, you know.”
Madame Fanchon, although not happy at being approached so late in the day to design a gown for Emily, prudently hid her annoyance, realising that the coming-out ball at Beauchamp House was a marvellous opportunity for her to display her talents on not only one, but two lovely young ladies. Because, although Emily lacked Alexandra’s striking good looks, and bright colouring, she had a quiet beauty which was all her own. With her pale gold hair, grey eyes, and delicate bone structure her face held a piquant charm, and the girl’s dainty figure, Madame Fanchon knew, as she thoughtfully surveyed her, would be a pleasure to dress.
Madame Fanchon decided to clothe Emily in a transparent cream lace gown, embroidered with silk sprays, worn over a slip of gold satin. It was cut low and square, with a straight line across the bosom, and when Emily first tried on the gown, she self-consciously covered her chest, feeling that the design was a little too revealing. Alexandra and Lady Beauchamp, however, quickly set her mind at rest, informing her that she looked most charming and not at all “fast” as she had feared.
Emily had been grateful when Lady Beauchamp informed her that she had invited her uncle, Major Rawlings, to the ball. He was a kindly gentleman, and although Emily did not know her mother’s brother well, she was happy that she would have some kind of familial support at her coming-out ball. Although he professed not to be a dancing man, the Major had also agreed to partner his niece in the first waltz of the evening, relieving Emily’s secret worry that she would not have someone to fulfil this important function for her.
At his sister’s request, John reluctantly agreed to take a few waltzing lessons from a well-known Italian dancing-master so that he could partner Alexandra in the first waltz: “Although I’d rather not, Alex. Dancing is a curst dull business, and I’ll more than likely tread on your toes, or embarrass us both by forgetting the steps.” He said this with a chuckle and a teasing grin, but Alexandra, looking worriedly at her brother’s face, realised with a sinking heart that he was not well. In recent days dark rings had formed under his eyes, and his skin had developed an unhealthy greyish tint. London air was not suited to his constitution and, although John tried to play it down as much as possible, the hacking cough that had plagued him since his early childhood appeared to be worsening as the days of his prolonged visit to the Metropolis went by. As much as she wished to tell her obstinate brother to return home for the sake of his health, Alexandra knew better than to do so. Although he had never actually said so in as many words, she was well aware of the fact that her brother’s constant ill health was a source of despair for him. Bitterly resenting the fact that his weak chest had robbed him of the opportunity of attending Eton, or of studying at Oxford, John preferred to ignore its existence in the rather naive hope that it would disappear. And although his physician, Dr Wainfleet, had cautiously indicated that with maturity his patient’s bronchial complaint might well improve, the fact remained that city air only exacerbated the condition — and this reality was difficult for a young gentleman, suddenly exposed to the delights of urban life, and the charms of one young lady in particular, to accept with equanimity. At heart, John was the archetypal country gentleman, but he was nonetheless a young man hungry for new experiences, and the fact that his illness disallowed this, Alexandra knew, frustrated him beyond endurance and made him disinclined to listen to any sisterly advice — no matter how well intentioned. Alexandra, therefore, wisely held her own counsel, but the problem continued to weigh heavily on her mind, and cast rather a damper on her spirits in the days leading up to her coming out ball.
On the evening of the ball, just before it was time to go downstairs to help her grandmother greet the first of their guests, Alexandra paused in front of the long mirror in her bedchamber and thoughtfully regarded the image of the sophisticated young woman staring back at her. She seemed almost a stranger — certainly very different from the carefree young girl who had once fly-fished in an outdated dimity gown, and waded barefoot through a stream in search of unusual pebbles to add to an already large collection. This girl was rather a picture of refined elegance and tasteful style; a model of ladylike perfection. Alexandra sighed, considering how her transformed physical appearance seemed to symbolise the different way in which she had begun to view life and love. Being an innately honest person, she could no longer ignore her feelings for the Duke of Stanford, and the truth was that she was falling more and more under his magnetic spell. The Duke appeared intent on adding her to his already long list of female conquests, and Alexandra thought she knew why. Since the evening of Lady Rigby’s ball, when she had so foolishly informed Sir Charles, in the Duke’s presence, that she was wholly unaffected by Stanford’s legendary charm, the Duke’s attitude towards her had undergone a subtle, yet distinct change. She realised, ruefully, that she should never have said such a thing. Stanford’s masculine pride would never allow him to overlook such a blatant challenge and, in all likelihood, he had decided then and there to attempt to set her up as his latest flirt in order to prove that she was susceptible to him.
However, even though she knew that the Duke of Stanford’s attentions were not at all serious, this did not alter the fact that whenever he walked into a room her heart began to beat a little faster, and that lately any parties which he did not attend, she had found to be interminably boring affairs. So much for her much touted independence, she thought self-mockingly. Drawing herself up to her full height, Alexandra stared challengingly at the figure reflected in the glass. She would have to take a firm hold on herself and be careful not to reveal her budding feelings to anyone, least of all to the ton’s acknowledged breaker of hearts. Although in imminent danger of losing her heart to him, Alexandra very much wanted to keep her self-respect.
Lady Beauchamp, John and Emily, who were already waiting downstairs, heard the rustle of a skirt, and stopping their conversation, turned to watch Alexand
ra descending the stairs. None of them said a word, struck dumb by the vision of ethereal beauty making her way towards them. Alexandra, totally unaware of the effect of her loveliness, said teasingly as she came to stand next to them, “My dears, surely I do not look as bad as all that?”
Clearing a suddenly constricted throat, Lady Beauchamp said quietly, “You look enchanting, child — and so much like your dear mother.” Alexandra embraced her grandmother, but made no response, realising intuitively Lady Beauchamp’s need for a moment’s stillness to regain her composure.
Turning to Emily, she complimented her friend on her appearance then, looking at her brother, resplendent in a new set of evening clothes, she said admiringly, “You’re turned out in prime style, John. You are becoming a man of fashion.”
Smiling rather self-consciously at his sister’s compliment, John said, “I took Peter’s advice, and got Swindon to make up some new clothes for me. You’re dressed up as fine as fivepence yourself, Alex.”
“Hmmm...” Alexandra murmured, her eyes sparkling. “If it ever becomes known that I am bookish, I am sure to be labelled “The Dashing Bluestocking.”” John was still chuckling at this remark when Leighton opened the door to admit the first of their guests.
Surrounded by a host of gentlemen later that evening, Alexandra smiled disbelievingly at the excessive compliments that her admirers seemed intent on paying her. Somehow she could not quite swallow Sir Richard Brampton’s assertion that she reminded him of a “mystical woodland nymph”, or Lord Hawthorne’s declaration that her “eyes outshone the stars in their brilliance, and diamonds in their brightness.” She thanked them prettily enough for their kind compliments, but a few would-be suitors began to wonder, a little uncomfortably, whether they had only imagined the gleam of unholy amusement present in the depths of Miss Grantham’s eyes as her gaze came to rest upon them.
Alissa Baxter Page 19